Running with the Pack
by folteropfer
Summary: The powerhouse of the underworld in Brooklyn is about to wage war on the toughest gang in Manhattan. The Brooklyn newsies are about to get caught in the middle of it, but not at all like they expect. Deceit woven throughout, there is more than one traitor
1. Prologue

Without a glance to anyone else in the room, a tall young man walked up to the bar

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies or any of the characters from the movie. While a good number of the characters in this are mine, there are many who belong to others. Everyone's character is their own, and much thanks to them for letting me borrow them for a while.

Without a glance to anyone else in the room, a tall young man walked up to the bar. He leaned up against it and ordered vodka, straight, before turning to girl sitting on the stool next to him.

"What do you want, now?" she asked, the corners of her mouth twitching with the desire to break into a smirk. Without bothering to look at him, she took a drag off the cigarette hanging from her fingers. To the average outsider they could look like siblings, both with dark hair and eyes, except that he snaked his arm around her waist as if he owned her in a purely non-brotherly way. He scowled, picking up his drink and taking a long sip.

"A little respect would be nice, Emma," he growled. "Special project for you." She finally looked at him, a glint in her eyes.

"Go on." He finished his drink and leaned down, his nose brushing against her ear as he whispered to her. As he went further and further in explanation her eyes glimmered more. When he had finished she turned, looking up at him. "And if I refuse?"

"Like hell you will!" he laughed harshly. "Find him, get in, and take it down. I know you've been waiting for this. _Immer treu_." She murmured his last words back to him, looking back down into her glass. He tossed some coins down on the bar and walked out as he had come in – without a notice to anyone else.

"Damn, Dorjan," she murmured, finishing her drink. "It's about time."


	2. Chapter One

A glance up to the darkening sky told her it was going to be a long, stormy day

A glance up to the darkening sky told her it was going to be a long, stormy day. Emmaline stood under the awning of a building, surveying the street as she took a long drag off her cigarette. Her gaze followed several young men as they walked by her, but merely flicked cigarette ash at their retreating backs after they had passed.

_If he doesn't hurry up, this is going to wait until tomorrow_, she thought, frowning. _I am not standing out in the rain waiting. _

Thunder rang out through the streets as her eyes locked into a young man walking down the street. There was confidence in his step, power in his eyes and an arrogance about him that told her it had to be him. She took one last drag and threw what was left of her cigarette to the ground, breathing the smoke out slowly. As he drew closer, she became more confident in her assumptions about him.

The red suspenders sealed it.

Quickly looking him over, she slowly stepped out into his path, acting as if she had tripped and fallen into him. "Easy, doll," came a sharp reply, his hands catching her arms to keep them both from tumbling to the ground.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she mumbled, remaining unsteady on her feet and bracing herself against him to keep standing. "I don't know what's come over me." She let herself go slightly limp in his grasp, her fingers trailing along his side and feeling the pocket watch in his pocket.

"Just stand up, will ya?" Her fingers swiftly undid the clasp to the watch, detaching the chain from his trousers. She slowly stood up straighter, pulling away from him as she kept her fingers around the chain. He released his hold on her, watching for a second to make sure she was not going to fall again, and then turned and walked away. Emma stood still, watching the watch slip out of his pocket as he stepped away from her and quickly putting it into her own.

Nonchalantly walking into an alleyway, she took the watch out of her pocket and turned it over in her hand. She wasn't the best pickpocket out there but she could get the job done. If she had actually been in it for the watch, she would have been halfway to home instead of standing in an alley, waiting to be caught. She turned to see if he had realized his folly yet and came face to face with him – and he did not look happy.

"Give it back. Now." The coldness of his voice matched the iciness of his glare.

"What?" she asked innocently, taking a step back. He grabbed her wrist and pulled

her back toward him.

"My watch, give it back." She pulled to try to get her wrist away from him but his grip was too strong. "I know you have it, give it back."

"Please," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "You don't understand."

"What's there to understand? It's mine, you took it, give it back."

"You don't understand." He shook his head, pulling her in closer and deciding to search for it himself, being anything but gentle as he tried to find where she was hiding it. "Stop! Don't!"

"Shoulda thought about that before ya nicked my watch, sweetheart," he muttered, finding success quickly as he reached into her pocket. She grabbed his hand as he pulled it away, the watch inside, and tried to pry his fingers apart. He was not normally inclined to be violent toward women, but this girl was getting on his last nerves. Her fingers slipped off his as he shook her off, headed toward the mouth of the alley.

"They'll kill me!" Her scream echoed off the alley walls and he turned back to her, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. She looked up at him, her eyes wild. "Please," she whimpered her voice much softer but not any more contained in emotion. "They'll kill me…"

"Who will kill you?" His curiosity had won out, but his guard was far from lowered.

"The Rebellion," she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked around the alley to make sure they were alone. "They… they make me steal and if I don't bring anything home," she broke off as she drew in a shaky breath, "they say they'll kill me." From the scowl forming on his face, she knew she was saying the right things to get him on her side.

"That so?" She nodded, leaning back against the wall for support as her eyes flitted up and down the alley. He had been suspicious of her ties and she seemed to be confirming his thoughts. If there was one group of people he hated in the city it was them. They preyed on the weak and dragged them down into the grime, claiming the right to decide what kind of street trash was allowed in the city. Newsies were the lowest on their list. "Stop that, they're not here."

"How do you know?" she demanded frantically, wringing her hands as she dropped her gaze from his. "They say they'll kill me… they say…" She bit her lip, looking up at him again. "I don't want to steal, I don't, I'm sorry for trying to take from you, I just don't want to die…"

"Can it," he muttered, looking her over. "You swear you don't want to steal?" She nodded firmly, not looking away from him. "If I catch word of you so much as touching someone else's shit, you're out, got it?"

"Touching someone's stuff where?"

"This ain't a free ride, girlie, alright?" He frowned as he put his watch in his pocket. "You've gotta earn your keep and as honest as it can be. Plus, since you tried to pick me and all, I'm not letting you off so easy." She watched him as he seemed to mull over the options in his head. "I can give you a place to stay, but only because I hate the fucking Rebellion." She nodded solemnly, holding a smile in. He was doing exactly what Dorjan said he would do – almost verbatim. "You're to keep your mouth shut and take orders, understand?"

"I understand," she replied softly. Biting her lip, she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Um, who are you?" He stared at her for a long moment, as if to see if she was actually serious in her questioning, and then let out a laugh.

"Doll, you've got a lot to learn. Spot Conlon." He spit in his palm and held it out to her, as if testing to see what she would do. Without breaking eye contact with him, she did the same, shaking hands with him. "I _am_ Brooklyn. Everyone, except you apparently, knows that." He had the arrogance just as Dorjan had said, the cockiness and the amazing self-obsession. If she had been any more prepared in how he would act, she would worry for how much Dorjan had been following him. "You are?"

"Emmaline." He looked at her, an eyebrow raised, waiting for her to continue. "Emmaline Johnston." There was no way in hell she was give him her real name, at least not her surname. Without her full name, it would be nearly impossible for him to find out anything about her, and that was what she was hoping. The less he found out the better.

"Like I said, keep your mouth shut and take orders. Don't steal other people's shit." Without another word, he turned and headed out of the alley, swearing under his breath as the rain started to fall. She followed along behind him, ducking under awnings as they walked up the street. He led her into a large house that had seen better days, a sign over the door advertising it as a lodging house for newsies. Stepping inside, she quickly looked around as she pushed her wet hair out of her face.

"Sign your name." She obediently picked up the pencil sitting on a ledger of sorts and signed her name, with the surname she had decided to use. "We don't get many girls, so everyone's in the same bunkroom. You'll get used to it." She nodded, biting her lip to keep from smirking. "Tomorrow we'll talk about what you're going to do to earn your keep here. For now, keep your trap shut."

As they turned to walk up the stairs, an imposing figure came walking down. "Got a new girl for yourself tonight, Conlon?" drawled the deep voice of the young man walking toward them.

"Watch it, Rome, she's going to be here for a while," Spot smirked, watching his friend look her over. "Going out?"

"Patrol," he shrugged, his eyes still lingering on her. After a long moment, he turned and headed out the door without another word. Emmaline frowned and followed Spot up the stairs into the bunkroom. For it being a lodging house, it seemed practically abandoned.

"A lot of duties to get done all the time," he said, throwing a blanket onto an empty bunk. "We're rarely all here at the same time, but Brooklyn wouldn't run without us so it's a price we have to pay." He winked at her and headed for another room.

"You owe me, Dor," she murmured as she sat down on the bunk he had given her. She had known going into it that she was going to have to deal with a house full of boys who had probably never seen much of a girl before, but she did not know how well she was going to handle it when she was not supposed to fight back.

"What do you mean, the Rebellion?" Spot glared at the impertinent person in front of him, who thought it was fine to talk about important matters loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Just go find Dragon, alright?" he continued, scowling. "Find him and tell him I need to talk to him, otherwise don't mention this to anyone." The boy scuttled off and Spot settled back on his bunk, resting his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes. He couldn't believe his luck, finding this girl. Finally he had an inside source to the Rebellion, a way to find out what was going on before it happened. Who would have guessed it would have come in the form of a girl trying to steal his watch.

"You called?" A dry voice broke him out of his reverie and back to the situation at hand. He opened his eyes and looked at the boy standing in his doorway. "Some of us have things to do, Conlon," Dragon continued in his British drawl, leaning against the doorframe. "We can't always just come and your beck and call—"

"Can it, you asshole," Spot muttered, sitting up and motioning for him to come in and shut the door. "I have a job for you."

"Imagine that." Dragon shut the door as he walked into the room. He remained impassive as he settled in a chair across from Spot, folding his arms. "Well?"

"I need you to find out everything you can about someone." Dragon raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. There was a smirk playing across his face, but he knew better than to keep picking at everything Spot said. "Emmaline Johnston."

"Doesn't sound familiar." He shrugged as he leaned back in the chair, racking his brain for traces of her name. "Emmaline. That the girl I heard Rome mentioning on his way down the road?" Spot answered with a nod and Dragon smirked. "Poor girl."

"She's tangled with the Rebellion, Drag." He could tell he had piqued the other boy's interest when he sat up so quickly he almost made the chair topple. "She tried to steal my watch – said they'd kill her if she didn't come back with something. All I know is we can use her."

"This could finally be it," Dragon muttered, more so to himself than Spot. He stood, giving his leader a pointed look. "Don't fuck it up." He ducked as a book flew toward his face, it hitting the wall with a loud thud. "Get a bloody sense of humor!" This time he had to lunge to the side to avoid Spot's cane. "Alright, alright, I'm going." Still smirking, he walked out of the room and into the night to search.

"Get up!" a defiant voice roared, filling the bunkroom with groans and swearing. Emmaline opened her eyes, staring up at the bottom of the bunk above her. Her heart sunk into her stomach when she remembered where she was rather than in the comfort of her own bed at home.

"Come on, girlie, time to get up." A shadow loomed over her and she looked up to see Rome smirking down at her. "That face isn't gonna pay the rent. Although," he paused as his eyes ran over her again, "it just might." She closed her eyes to keep from glaring at him and waited until she heard him walk off, chuckling to himself.

Emmaline got up from her bunk and sighed, examining the chaos that had become the bunkroom as everyone was getting ready. She carefully made her way to the washroom and claimed the sink furthest from the door. Ignoring the loud rabble all around her, she calmly washed her face and walked out of the washroom, down to the lobby.

"Made it out alive, I see." Spot was leaning against the front desk, watching her come down the stairs. "Better than I expected, anyway." She shrugged and walked over to him. "Go back to the Rebellion."

"What?" Her eyes widened as she looked at him, biting her lip. He smirked at her expression and shook his head.

"Relax, Emmy, I—"

"Don't call me Emmy." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her tone had taken a turn for the sharper side and her hands clenched at her sides. Spot held up his hands, nonplussed at her exclamation.

"Relax, _Emmaline_," he continued, looking at her with more curiosity now. "I'm just trying to keep them from killing you. Unless you would have it some other way." He held his hand out to her and dropped a locket into hers. "We'll make sure you seem like you're stealing. In return, you give us inside information on the Rebellion. What they are planning, where they are, everything."

"That's what you're going to have me do, to make up for—"

"Yeah. Simple, isn't it?" He stepped away from the desk, closer to her, and spoke in a much lower tone. "The minute they tell you that you can go, you come straight back here, got it? If you even try to run on us we'll find you and we won't be as forgiving the second time around." She nodded and closed her hand, the locket inside. "Well get going. Manhattan isn't getting any closer."

With a final glance up the stairs, Emmaline made her way out of the house. She quickly walked toward the bridge and looped back through the docks. It was too early to pretend to walk all the way to Manhattan, she decided, and she wanted to get some actual sleep. The constant slamming of doors and boys came in and out of the bunkroom had kept her from sleeping more than an hour at a time and she wasn't going to do well with her façade if she didn't manage to get some rest before heading back.

Walking between two of the buildings, she disappeared down a staircase that hid in the shadows. She knocked on the door, leaning against the wall. After a long moment of nothing happened, she sighed. "Open the fucking door!"

"Now, now, Emma. That's no way to do it. What if you're at gunpoint?" The door muffled the voice, but it was clear that the person on the other side was amused.

"Öffnen sie die tür." The door swung open slightly to reveal a tall, dark-haired young man. "Shut it, Ace, leave me alone." The door was latched behind her with several different locks and she wandered inside sleepily.

"Dorjan will want to see you." He had caught her hand before she could get far and pulled her around to face him, his light eyes staring down into hers. She stopped, looking up into his eyes with a frown. A long moment passed as they stood like that until she cleared her throat.

"Alright, fine," she muttered, pulling her hand away from him and breaking the gaze. "Where is he?"

"Sleeping. Like most reasonable people do at this hour." She rolled her eyes and headed for a room across the building. Entering it, she saw Dorjan lying motionless on his bed, facedown. She silently crawled onto the bed, laying beside him and speaking into his ear.

"You wanted to see me?" He groaned, turning his head away from her with a vehement curse. "Ace said you wanted to see me." Turning back to her, he opened his eyes and glared. "What?"

"Sleeping, Emma," he growled, flipping onto his back and rubbing at his eyes. "That's what I was doing before you rudely fucking woke me up." He yawned and looked over at her sleepily, his expression irritated and curious. "Now. Tell me what happened."

Across the river, the sun was fighting its way into a dark, dank building through the many dusty windows. It shone weakly on the young men sitting at a table, deep in discussion. There were not many people Cage, the leader of the Rebellion, would trust to be in his inner circle, but the few he had sitting before him had proven themselves to be good enough to make it in.

"Can we hurry this up?" muttered Pierce, the most impertinent of the boys. His tall, muscular frame was still imposing as he sat slouched in his chair, staring at the table. His attention was difficult to keep, as proven by his fingers tapping on the table already, before the meeting had even officially started. Cage ignored him, and leaned back in his chair.

"We need to get everyone as sharp as we can," he drawled, studying the faces of those around the table. "I want to make a stand against this scum in our city."

"Haven't we already done that?" Pierce interjected, once again only getting a sharp glance from his leader. He shifted his gaze from the table to Max, who was sitting across from him. He knew Max wouldn't say anything – Max rarely said anything. From the looks of things, Max was ready to do whatever Cage asked of him as long as it involved a fight. There was a glint in the boy's brown eyes that could not be mistaken.

"These Manhattan newsies are nothing – we've already shown them that," Cage continued as he stood, walking around the table slowly. "We're going bigger. We need to do something that will make everyone see we mean business." He stopped across from Cards and looked over at him. Cards, the smallest in stature of the group gathered there, looked up from underneath his bowler hat and raised an eyebrow. "Somewhere close to home for some of us."


	3. Chapter Two

"What'd you find out

"What'd you find out?" Spot snapped at the tall boy standing in front of him. Without flinching, Dragon just stared back at him for a moment before replying.

"Nothing." The response was curt as Dragon crossed his arms, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"What the fuck does that mean, nothing?"

"Just what it says. We did not find anything. Reuben's been all over the damn city trying to find something." Dragon's tone was even but his irritation was shown in his features. "And when you can't find anything on someone it means they have everything to hide."

"She's just a girl, it can't be that bad." Spot's voice was more relaxed, now, as he shrugged. "You're paranoid."

"Just a girl?" Dragon scoffed. "God, you're thick!" He stepped back to avoid the fist coming his way and shook his head. "Don't you remember what she told you when you met her?" He allowed Spot several moments of thought before rolling his eyes. "The Rebellion, you twit!" This time he wasn't so lucky and got caught by Spot's cane. "Fuck!"

"Watch your mouth next time," Spot growled, using his cane to poke his top informant in the chest.

"When you get over your snit – _CHRIST, Spot!_ – will you at least listen?" Dragon scowled, rubbing his shoulder that had just suffered for his words. Despite the physical abuse, his mouth twitched with a smirk.

"Look harder if you're so suspicious, will you?" Spot sheathed his cane through a belt loop, clearly willing to pull it out again if deemed necessary by Dragon's unwieldy and disrespecting mouth.

"Oh yes, look harder he says," he stated somewhat mockingly. "That's rich, coming from someone who doesn't have to look for a single damn thing."

"Is that not," Spot responded, through clenched teeth, "the precise reason I have you?"

"Is it _really_?" Dragon responded, with faux shock, if he had never been told the reason before. "Then wouldn't you think I had checked everywhere before coming to tell you that we've turned over nothing? Why wouldn't I try as hard as I could before having to do that? If you think I'm not doing everything I can—"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Spot stood there scowling him, both of them glaring at each other with contempt. "Drag, just because you've been my friend for a long time doesn't mean…"

"Oh, I know," Dragon muttered, still looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Just because you've known me for so long doesn't mean you get to order me around like some bleeding idiot that can't tell Brooklyn from fucking Ohio. You told me to do my job, I did it. I did it as best I could and just because we couldn't turn up a damn thing on this broad doesn't mean we didn't try our best. I'll keep my eyes and ears open but I can't promise anything. I still say I don't trust her."

"Just keep your mouth shut around everyone, understand?" Dragon shrugged and Spot gave him a pointed look.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, holding up his hands in defeat. "I'll keep my trap shut and you'll stop treating me like I know nothing." He shook his head with a sigh, and then a smirk once again tugged at his lips. "It's a shame you have to pretend like you're such an asshole, though." He ducked as he ran out of the room, narrowly avoiding yet another blow to his body and ego from Spot's cane as he went.

"I'm sick of those damn newsies thinking they own this city, our city!" Cage roared, speaking to his troops like a minister spoke to his congregation at a revival. He could see all their eyes locked on him, listening to every word he was saying. The Rebellion was always ready to hear Cage rant and rave about taking down the street rats they all despised. "The Manhattan newsies are weak, we already have their fear. To get the entire city to listen, to pay notice, we need something bigger."

Surveying the group in front of him, he fell silent. He fully expected one of the people staring back at him to volunteer the idea running through his mind. Sure enough, he heard a throat clear. "Brooklyn."

Now, instead of looking at Cage, everyone in the room was looking at Cards. No one had noticed him listening as he had been clearly attached to Cats, per usual. A twisted smile slowly spread over Cage's face as he nodded at Cards.

"Brooklyn," he repeated, pointing at Cards. "Brooklyn is what we need to take to show this asshole street scum we mean business. Manhattan is nothing compared to Brooklyn. If we take it, no one will question us." He could hear muttering scattered throughout the room as he stopped talking again.

"There's a problem in Brooklyn," Tanya spoke up, looking up through her straight dark hair at Cage. "A certain pack of dogs."

It had been a week since she had arrived in the house before Emmaline took any information to the leader of Brooklyn. Somehow, Dorjan was supplying her with information to take to him, though she knew better than to ask how he was getting it. While he normally played the spy and did his own dirty work, there was no way he was able to sneak about in Manhattan near the Rebellion; a dark time in his past kept that from being possible.

"They're planning something for in about two or three weeks," she stated quietly, in Spot's room after everyone else in the house had gone to bed. "They didn't tell me any details yet, but I know we have a little time to get something together."

"A few weeks," Spot repeated, frowning as he thought it over. "We need to know where and when. Those are the most important. After that comes I need to know how many and what to expect." She nodded and turned to go. "Good work, Emma." Since it was coming from him, she knew he meant it.

"I have to go back tonight," she said suddenly, remembering quickly that there was a meeting at the house. She looked back at him as if seeking permission. He stared at her for a long moment, and then nodded. Without another word, she hurried downstairs and out of the house, taking shortcuts right and left to get to the house quickly. The shortcuts, conveniently, made the hardest path to follow if one did not know where they were going. She hated going back and forth to the house, knowing that at any time someone could be following her. The darkness of the night was her safeguard and she took full advantage of it.

Once more, she leapt down the staircase hidden in the shadows. She knocked on it once. "Öffnen sie die tür." A few seconds and several locks clicking open later, she was inside.

"Cutting it awfully close, Emma." Standing there, the doorman for the evening, with a smirk spread across his face was Hades. He tossed his dark, scraggly hair out of his eyes as he pointed down the hall. "They're waiting for you." With a murmur of thanks, she made her was down the hall and into a small dining room, sliding into an empty seat at the table.

There were not many members of the House of the Howling Coyotes. They kept themselves to an exclusive few, a handful, due to the nature of their business. If anyone was missing from the gathering, they were not mentioned, for if they were out on business it was better not to ask.

Dorjan, the leader of their entourage, was seated at the head of the table. His hardened expression had taken years to perfect to the point where he was just intimidating to see. He ruled with an iron fist and fought with it, too. While everyone at the table knew they had their moments of fun with him, they also knew better than to provoke him too much or when he was already in a bad mood. When he glanced around the table, everyone's eyes turned to him.

"The coyote," he began, "is a great symbol." To everyone's exasperation, he began every meeting with the same story. They all knew it by heart and could say it along with him, but still he demanded to do it every single time. The group seated around the table exchanged looks of desperation as he continued. "It is the symbol of a trickster. It is mischievous and evasive. It is thought, by some, to be what brought death into this world." Here he paused, as he always did, and Celia looked over at Emmaline, rolling her eyes. "You are to be the coyote."

Celia was one of the only other girls in the Coyotes, and a good friend to Emmaline. They had been brought in around the same time and while they had moved up in the House at different speeds, their friendship had remained intact. Celia tossed her impeccable dark, curly hair over her shoulder and looked back to Dorjan, who was preparing to speak again.

"We're going after the Rebellion." Everyone in the room but Emmaline sat up straighter in their chairs, staring at him in disbelief.

"You're joking," Ace muttered, shaking his head.

"No, I'm not joking." Dorjan looked irritated at their lack of enthusiasm.

"You are aware they have a few more people on their side than we do, right Dor?" Aurora, who had been sitting quietly at the other end of the table, was now leaning in and looking down at him.

"No, Aurora, I forgot to count," Dorjan snapped, scowling down at her. Her eyes narrowed, like hazel slits against her fair skin. "You think I wouldn't take that into account?" Emmaline smirked, watching him get flustered. He had expected them to be excited at this prospect but had clearly overestimated his news.

"I think she meant," interceded Celia, "was how are we going to make up for the fact that they have so many more people than us? Picking them off one by one can't be the answer, or we would've done that long ago."

"We did do that for a while," Emmaline offered. "Remember? Not that long ago, either. It didn't work that well, since they knew who to blame."

"Stop gabbing and I'll tell you!" roared Dorjan, pounding his fist into the table as he stood up. "God, all of you can't shut up for two minutes put together! This is important and you're making small talk through it all!" Silence fell around the table as they all looked at him once more, much more somber than before. He glared at all of them before he continued. "We're getting more of Brooklyn on our side. Not that they know it, they're just pawns. They're useful pawns, though."

"You're being cryptic," muttered Celia, but pursed her lips as he turned his gaze onto her.

"We're getting the Brooklyn newsies on our side." He glanced at Emmaline briefly before continuing. "We need numbers and they're good fighters. Best of all, they hate the Rebellion almost as much as we do. They don't know a thing about us; they just know they're getting inside information." He looked around the table, as if daring any one of them to say something against this idea, but his plan seemed to have settled most of the doubts they had been holding. "I'll keep you updated."

Taking it as a sign the meeting was over, as Dorjan sat back down, everyone else around the table slowly got to their feet and left the cramped room. Hades surveyed them from down the hall but didn't say anything. They dispersed to the various rooms in the house except for Emmaline. She went to a small cupboard in the hallway and pulled out a bottle and some glasses. Wandering back into the dining room, she found Dorjan just as she had left him. He glanced at her as she came in and motioned her over after she had shut the door.

"How's it looking?" He took the glasses from her and set them on the table, watching her as she poured into them.

"Everything seems alright." She slid into the chair next to him and picked up one of the glasses. "No one's getting suspicious and they seem riled up." He smirked, taking a long drink from his glass. "I might kill some of them, though."

"Now, Emma, that's not the job I put you on," he grinned. "Maybe afterwards, though, if you feel really passionate about it. I can't exactly stop you from killing people."

"You usually encourage it." She drained her glass and raised the bottle to pour them both some more. Watching him finish off what she had just poured, she took in a deep breath. "Dor, how are you getting this information about the Rebellion? I mean, I can wager a guess, but…"

"You don't need to know that, Emma," he said, shaking his head. "You know better than to ask." She frowned but did not push the matter. There had been more than one person missing at the meeting, so she could not figure it out from that alone. "You need to get back, though right?"

"I told him I had to go back to the Rebellion tonight, so not really, I guess," she mused as she raised her glass to her lips. She kept her eyes on him as she finished it off and set it back down. "Do you want me to go back?"

"Naw, you should stay here," he said, glancing at the shut door for a moment. "It's too quiet."

"You saying I'm loud?"

"So what if I am?" he replied gruffly, but not without a smirk. "You are." She punched his arm lightly and he laughed. After a long, shared silence he sighed. "We can't lose you, Emma, alright? I gave this to you because I knew you could handle it and I trusted you with it, but it's not stable. They can't find out about you – probably not even after it's finished. Who knows what could happen."

"I get it, Dorjan," she murmured, looking away from him. "I get that it's a big deal and I have to be careful. Don't worry so much, I know what I'm doing."

"That's probably what worries me the most."

Emmaline stayed away from the house for a while, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she kept disappearing and not leaving the borough. She knew there was constant patrolling of the borders and it would not go unnoticed that she was never actually going to Manhattan. Dorjan had told her he would keep her busy but so far he hadn't followed through on his promise. Starting to lose hope with him, she resigned to going back to the lodging house for the evening, heading straight for the bunkroom.

"Someone was looking for you." Emmaline stopped, her foot on the bottom step. She hadn't noticed anyone in the lobby when she entered but now that she looked harder she saw Dragon sitting behind the desk, his feet propped up on it. "Left something for you."

"What?" She slowly walked toward him, a pit forming in her stomach. They should know better than to come here, why would they risk it?

"Tall bloke." Dragon lowered his long legs and stood. "Seemed upset you weren't here."

"What did he leave?"

"We don't want people from the Rebellion here," he continued, as if he hasn't heard her. "Especially since they shouldn't know you're here."

"He wasn't from the Rebellion, there's no way they could know," Emmaline snapped, holding her hand out in front of her. "What did they leave?"

"Just a letter." He held it out to her and she felt herself start to breathe easier. She could see it had been opened but that didn't matter; all the correspondence that came from Dorjan was in German anyway. As she reached for it, he pulled it out of her reach. "I didn't know you were German."

"Apparently there are a lot of things you don't know." Emmaline could see her words had hit him hard; this was, after all, someone who prided himself of knowing everything about everyone. She leaned forward and snatched the letter from his hand while he was still brooding over her comment, the anger spreading across his features quickly. "Thank you." Her tone was sarcastic and flat as she thanked him and turned, going upstairs.

Unfolding the letter when she got to the bunkroom, her eyes flitted to the bottom first. The lines at the bottom of the page, where a signature would normally be, told her hat her suspicions were correct. She scanned over it in its entirety, frowning at the briefness of it. It made sense that it lacked detail; they knew there were other people in the city who could read German – they weren't stupid. She just wanted it to say more than a time, a place, and the nature of the meeting. It closed with the familiar '_immer treu_' and ended abruptly.

Twisting her hair up into a bun, she went outside and pulled a box of matches from her pocket. She struck a match against the wall and set fire to the letter, letting it float to the ground and watching it burn. She heard a soft whistle behind her.

"So you're the tall bloke," she mused softly, turning to look down the she shadows of the street. "I should've known."

"He says you're late." Ace spoke quietly as he stepped out of the shadows.

"Of course I'm late, I just got it." She scowled down at the ash on the ground, formerly a letter. "How was I supposed to be on time if I didn't know about it until afterwards?" She sighed as he motioned for her to walk along with him.

They had only walked a few blocks when Ace muttered, "that was quick." She looked over at him and he jerked his head backwards. They were being followed.

Walking in the darkness of the streets they barely spoke to each other. She should have guessed that Dragon would have her followed, especially after how she had acted with him. Approaching their destination, he spoke to her in a distinct German murmur. "In the backroom."

Nodding, she walked into the pub. Ace continued down the street as if he didn't even notice her absence. She glanced around the pub briefly before walking toward the back wall – toward a door. The doorman looked as if he wanted to stop her but he didn't. He had his orders, she knew, and he wouldn't want to go against Dorjan.

"Job for you." She had barely shut the door before Dorjan started. Raising an eyebrow, she sat across from him. "Shouldn't take that long."

"I hope not," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Kind of busy these days."

"Aren't we all," he responded dryly. "Don't start, Emma, you know I wouldn't ask if I didn't need you." When she nodded, he continued. "Astoria – Hoyt. Look above the candy shop, there's a gentleman there I think you'll like."

"Astoria, hm?" she mused, rising from her chair. "Sounds like a nice day trip." She nodded to him, turning to leave.

"I don't want you going anywhere unarmed."

"Come on, Dor," she scowled, facing him again. "It's not suspicious to be carrying a gun or anything…"

"Don't let them see it," he retorted, ignoring her look of contempt. "That's an order, Emmaline. And get that job done tomorrow."

"Bossy," she muttered, but nodded once again before heading out the door. All she could hope was for no one to follow her to Astoria. One misstep with this job and the entire plan was gone.


End file.
